


Insecurities

by MinMinn



Series: Da'mi Lavellan One Shots [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst?, F/M, Fluff, Haven, Insecurities, the tiniest beginning of a slow burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-14
Updated: 2017-05-14
Packaged: 2018-10-31 16:03:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10902732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MinMinn/pseuds/MinMinn
Summary: Da'mi tries to learn how to cope with the insecurities involved in being The Inquisitor. Various people and their intentions do not help.





	Insecurities

She first noticed a change when she went to her dresser and began thinking about what to wear.

It wasn't that she didn't care about her appearance - she took pride in the way her leg wraps were done, how her belt sat across her hips - but she'd never stopped to think of what to wear.

What did a hunter care if their tunic were red or green? A hunter cared about their potion stoppers, if the edge of their blades were sharp enough. Yet here she was wondering how she'd look with a light nug-skin vest over her tunic to hide the patchwork. There was one draped over her chair, part of a collection delivered last week that various humans thought she should wear.

Without thinking, she reached for it, absently fingering the thick fabric, admiring the needlework in the hem, imagining what he'd think if ...

"Elghar'nan!" She cried disgustedly. A hot flush grew over her pointed ears and she turned to slam the drawer shut, huffing a piece of her thick dark hair out of her eyes. Foolishness.

Grumbling under her breath, she stormed over to the bed where her same old tunic lay waiting. Even though Haven was barely more than a refugee camp, the servants still found the time to prepare her clothes and meals each morning. Trying not to think, she threw the tunic on over her breast-band.

"Hunters need a good blade and a watchful eye," she muttered to herself as she tied the fastenings. She didn't even bother to check the glass by the dresser, she told herself she didn't care how she looked now.

As she burst out of the hot little cabin, the cold greeted her harshly. It was worse than usual, and Da'mi could sense a more bitter, earth-deep chill in the air. Winter was almost upon them.

The familiar clang of steel flew up to greet her, coming from the lower tier of the village. When she'd first awoken in Haven she was sure she was back in the aravel, waking to a human raid on their camp. But now the sound comforted her; it reminded her that the Inquisition was always preparing to fight. Growing stronger.

She'd never expected to be in the position she was. She still believed it to be false. Any second now, the humans would tire of this little game of theirs and cast her aside like so many other Elves. She'd seen her sister through it - she'd nursed her back to health after that human discarded her. Nursed her child, too. For a while.

"Inquisitor! Come to enjoy the lovely weather?" A deep, friendly voice brought her out of her reverie. She turned to see Varric, standing by the fire as usual, warming his hands and hopping from one foot to the other.

She grinned. Here was someone who understood the humans' way. He understood, and took no part in it, as effortlessly as pine lets snow run off its needles.

"Varric," she said warmly, the frustration of the morning melting away slightly. "I could crack open a keg with your nipples, you look frozen to the balls!"

The dwarf laughed loudly, "I am. I truly am. I'm going to write a book about it and I'll call it 'Frosty Nips.' I'll even put a dedication to you in the front. Underneath 'Cassandra,' of course."

"Of course," Da'mi chuckled. She sighed then, thinking of the impending meeting with said 'Frosty Nips.'

"What do you think it's about?" Varric asked, reading her mind.

"Ah, some halla-shit," she said dismissively. "As usual. Something about how responsible and holy I should feel."

"And guilty. Don't forget guilty."

"I just don't get it," Da'mi sighed, staring  into the flames, "I'm an elf. I said that to them, and it was like they didn't even know! It was like they'd completely forgotten I had bare feet and pointy ears and a great big vallaslin on my great big 'blessed' face." She kicked a dirty clump of snow into the coals and watched the flames flare up.

"I know it's hard to believe, but they really don't care about that stuff," Varric replied calmly. "Cassandra might seem crazy, but she's only interested in following her old boss. And Leliana, well," Varric coughed a short laugh, "Sure, you can't trust her. But you can trust she wants the breach closed as much as we do."

Da'mi nodded. "Her I can understand. Her letters to my Keeper were sound. It's clear she's dealt with more than just dusty old humans around a war table," she scratched at her hair absentmindedly, thinking now of her clan and what could be happening there. Not for the first time, she thought about simply leaving, but a sound cut through her planning before she could start.

She turned to it, seeing the bare feet first, then the leg-wraps and knitted leggings over the top. A staff, too, gnarled, but clearly steeped in magic. Then the hands, holding its shaft gently, but with a hidden strength. Her eyes lifted to his face...

"Chuckles," Varric said with the same amount of mirth he'd greeted her with before. "Come and join our old women by the well meeting."

Solas didn't laugh. He was staring at Da'mi intently. He did move to join them, however, and she tried to ignore the strange nervous feeling in her abdomen that bloomed as he gazed at her.

"Aren't you a little underdressed, Inquisitor?" Solas said evenly. Coolly.

Here's the true 'Frosty Nips.' Da'mi thought bitterly. She was surprised at how bitter she suddenly felt, and then remembered her little moment back in the cabin.

"I'm dressed just fine, Old Man," she bit back, literally digging her heels into the snow like some pouty child.

"I'm sure you are," Solas replied, not removing his gaze, "But aren't you cold?"

Da'mi realised she had her arms folded across her chest, and flung them down to her sides defiantly. "Of course I am!" She cried. "But I'm a Dalish elf, remember? Surely us savages weren't made for your fancy woollen panties from Orlais."

But even after that, the blasted elf still kept staring at her. She realised, despite her temper, that he truly was concerned. And that made her furious.

"I meant no offence," Solas offered gently.

"Of course you didn't," she muttered, unconsciously folding her arms over her chest again. She could feel the awkwardness hanging in the air now, and felt sorry for Varric.

"Well... I'm feeling frostier than usual now," Varric said slowly, and the snow crunched as he moved to leave them. Da'mi shot him a pleading look, but the dwarf only shrugged. His red coat grew smaller in the snow as he trudged toward the tavern. She wished she could join him.

"You're upset," Solas said. A statement. All of his words were statements. The Old Man knew everything.

"Nice observation," she said lamely. The fire in her was dying down, even though his persistent concern irked her to no end. She couldn't stop thinking about how she'd felt... thinking about what he would think if she wore...

"Ugh," she kicked at the snow again, but some small part of her managed to control her emotions. It wasn't his fault she felt so confused. She was taking her anger out on him.

"I'm sorry Solas. I've had a strange morning," hearing herself, she still sounded immature. Her voice even had that obstinate sound, like a child who's forced to apologise.

"Think nothing of it," he said softly. She could feel her ears grow uncomfortably hot again, and she stared at her feet.

"This meeting would frighten anyone in your position," he continued. "Cassandra is on a mighty quest, and so are we all now swept along with it. But it isn't her fault. It's not by her design that you've come to fill the shoes you fill."

"Hah. By design," Da'mi met Solas' gaze, the bitterness returning, and she curled her lip at him, "Who's design, then?"

Solas was silent, and Da'mi could have sworn a small flicker of fear passed over his strange features. But it was gone so quickly she couldn't even grab the suspicion, and suddenly his face was as cold as stone once more.

"Who can say," Solas said evenly. "All we know, all we can hope, is that you're our only chance of salvaging this mess."

Da'mi was rooted by his gaze. He'd stepped closer now, still distant but his eyes were fervent as he spoke. She swallowed loudly, then darted her eyes to the ground.

"Some chance," she said, "I can't even bring myself to wear the right clothes." It was then that she realised she hated standing before him, her tunic covered in patches, her hair dishevelled and full of snow. She truly was a savage, compared to all the elegance she now saw.

"Clothes? Do you mean the new ones?" He asked quietly.

Da'mi looked at him quizzically, "How do you know about those?"

Solas met her gaze, and with perfect dismissiveness, he said "Well, they were mine."

She felt her eyes widen, and that same burn at the tip of her ears returned, stronger than ever. It crept over her face, and her cheeks grew so hot she had to step away from the fire.

"Y--yours?" She whispered.

"Yes, Inquisitor," he replied with a quizzical look, "I made them myself. We can't have you freezing to death in the winter. And Besides..." he suddenly stepped closer to her, and it was all too close for Da'mi's liking. He was all together imposing, tall and immovable, and she didn't like the look he had etched into every line of his face; confident. Playful.

"Besides... I rather liked the thought of you wearing something my hands had touched," he said simply.

It was all Da'mi could do to stop herself from fleeing. He was so brazen! How dare he say something like that to her face! A sudden urge to slap him replaced her initial fear, but she was frozen in place. Dumbstruck by this stupid Old Man and his stupid clothes. Not to mention the unthinkable warmth now spreading across her chest and stomach…

It was then that Cullen decided to clear his throat behind her, and the world seemed to expand. She could breathe. The walls weren't closing in. She wasn't seeing red. It helped that Solas had instantly straightened - she realised he had been bending close to her - taking a subtle step away to put some distance between them.

"Forgive me Inquisitor," Cullen said with a strange hoarseness in his voice, "But the meeting is about to begin. We require your attention on a great many--"

"Yes, yes!" Da'mi cried, all of her frustration boiling over in one moment. "Keep your bloody Frosty Nips under your shirt!" And with that she stormed off toward the chapel, leaving one very red-faced Cullen - and one chuckling Solas - in the snow.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Its been too long and maybe I'm just getting overly excited for E3 and potential DA4 announcements, but it's high time I flexed my writing muscles.


End file.
